


In Between

by Sigmund



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Really no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigmund/pseuds/Sigmund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Artagnan wakes up one morning, he wakes up another morning and another...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wildforce71](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildforce71/gifts), [fandomlver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomlver/gifts).



> Please note: THIS IS NOT A DEATHFIC  
> Other note: Hello! Hope this is enjoyed, and thank you, thank you, thank you for reading, leaving kudos and comments on my other stories.   
> I dedicated it to fandomlvr and wildforce71 because I love their writing and repeatedly re-read it.

Waking up to the sounds of the men already milling downstairs made d'Artagnan move from the bed. After morning absolutions, he put on his uniform and arranged his weapons as he went down the stairs.

Porthos and Aramis were already at the table, and d'Artagnan gestured to Athos as he came through the gate with his hair slightly damp in the front.

"You look terrible," Aramis stated, starting to stand.

D'Artagnan motioned for him to return to his seat. "Have assignments been called?" He was more worried that he had missed muster.

Porthos shook his head, then pointed up.

"D'Artagnan, my office," Treville called out.

Marching up the stairs, the Gascon stood at attention listening to his orders. The Captain passed him a letter. "Deliver this to Bishop Desmarais and wait for his answer. One of the others will come with you."

"Yes, Sir," D'Artagnan answered and slipped the missive inside his doublet. As he exited he announced, "Anyone willing to take a walk?" He was looking directly at his mentor.

Athos gave a nod. "Perhaps my influence will keep you out of trouble."

The other two snorted and went to train while Athos and d'Artagnan exited the garrison into the bustling Paris streets. The Bishop's residence was less than a 30 minute walk, one d'Artagnan did frequently enough as a newly commissioned Musketeer. The Bishop was a friend of Treville's and often informed him of the Cardinal's position on certain matters.

After all the Captain was just as cunning and lethal as his Eminence only with a better moral compass. They were about to turn the corner when it happened - a shot from the window and three men barring them from going any further. The shot had struck Athos's shoulder before d'Artagnan could raise his sword a fourth person came from the alley and stabbed Athos sending him stumbling to the ground while the bandits went running.

"Nooo!" D'Artagnan gathered Athos in his arms as the man blinked, gasping as blood spilled from his mouth instead of words. "Stay with me, stay with me…."

***

Waking up to the sounds of the men already milling downstairs made d'Artagnan move from the bed. After morning absolutions, he put on his uniform and arranged his weapons as he went down the stairs.

Porthos and Aramis were already at the table, and d'Artagnan gestured to Athos as he came through the gate with his hair slightly damp in the front.

"You look terrible," Aramis stated, starting to stand.

D'Artagnan motioned for him to return to his seat. "Have assignments been called?" He was more worried that he had missed muster.

Porthos shook his head, then pointed up.

"D'Artagnan, my office," Treville called out.

Marching up the stairs, the Gascon stood at attention listening to his orders. The Captain passed him a letter. "Deliver this to Bishop Desmarais and wait for his answer. One of the others will come with you."

"Yes, Sir," D'Artagnan answered and slipped the missive inside his doublet. As he exited he announced, "Anyone willing to take a walk?" He was looking directly at the sharpshooter. "When I left you were with Mademoiselle Cosette."

Aramis smiled. "She has many charms." The sharpshooter slipped his arm around d'Artagnan's shoulders as the left the garrison towards the Bishop's home.

They walked the well-known path, d’Artagnan had delivered messages while he was training when no one was available. It made the Gascon feel trusted by Treville, though he thought the Captain chose him since the Bishop was a fellow Gascon and always spent a few moments speaking in their dialect.

“You should have stayed a little longer. Perhaps next time you will entertain Cosette’s friend,” Aramis commented.

Since Constance he hadn’t lived his life as a monk, but he a bit choosier. “Will you return to Cosette again?”

The sharpshooter shrugged his shoulders with a smile. He was not so giving of his heart as it had led to the Queen, a forbidden romance.

As they turned the corner a shot from the window and three men barred them from going any further. The shot struck Aramis's shoulder before d'Artagnan could raise his sword a fourth person came from the alley and stabbed Aramis sending him stumbling to the ground while the bandits went running.

"Nooo!" D'Artagnan gathered Aramis in his arms as the man blinked, gasping as blood spilled from his mouth instead of words. "Dear God, don’t die.”

***

Waking up to the sounds of the men already milling downstairs made d'Artagnan move from the bed. After morning absolutions, he put on his uniform and arranged his weapons as he went downstairs.

Porthos and Aramis were already at the table, and d'Artagnan gestured to Athos as he came through the gate with his hair slightly damp in the front.

"You look terrible," Aramis stated, starting to stand.

D'Artagnan motioned for him to return to his seat. "Have assignments been called?" He was more worried that he had missed muster.

Porthos shook his head, then pointed up.

"D'Artagnan, my office," Treville called out.

Marching up the stairs, the Gascon stood at attention listening to his orders. The Captain passed him a letter. "Deliver this to Bishop Desmarais and wait for his answer. One of the others will come with you."

"Yes, Sir," D'Artagnan answered and slipped the missive inside his doublet. As he exited he announced, "Anyone willing to take a walk?" He was grinned at Porthos. "What happened to all your winnings?" When last he left the tavern Porthos had a pile of money, yet his coin purse hung none the heavier.

"Investments, lad, investments." Porthos grabbed d'Artagnan's upper arm. "Are you well?"

D'Artagnan shook his head and the cobwebs that momentarily had settled there causing him to sway. "It was a strange feeling. I must be hungry. Perhaps you still have enough coin to buy some bread?"

They stopped at Porthos's favorite bakery on the rue they were traveling. The baker’s wife gave them an extra baguette each, “you need to be as big as he is.”

Porthos chuckled in agreement. “Even in my days in the court I wasn’t as skinny as you.”

“I’m not skinny,” d’Artagnan grouched his usual response. “I’m lean. It makes me quick.”

Porthos had just finished his bread when they turned the corner and a shot from the window stopped them in front of three men barring them from going any further. The shot had struck Porthos's shoulder before d'Artagnan could raise his sword a fourth person came from the alley and stabbed Porthos sending him stumbling to the ground while the bandits went running.

"Nooo!" D'Artagnan gathered Porthos in his arms as the man blinked, gasping as blood spilled from his mouth instead of words. "Don’t close your eyes, you hear me…”

***

Waking up to the sounds of the men already milling downstairs made d'Artagnan lay in bed for a moment. Something was wrong. He didn’t know what it was, but he figured he would have to leave the room to find out.

Porthos and Aramis were already at the table, and d'Artagnan gestured to Athos as he came through the gate with his hair slightly damp in the front.

"You look terrible," Aramis stated, starting to stand.

D'Artagnan motioned for him to return to his seat, then looked up to see Treville on the balcony. He was already making his way up the stairs. “You wanted me, Sir?”

Treville shook his head. “I did. Come inside.”

The Gascon stood at attention listening to his orders. The Captain passed him a letter. "Deliver this to Bishop Desmarais and wait for his answer. One of the others will come with you."

“I would like to deliver the letter alone if that is all right with you?” There was something wrong today and he did not want the others caught up in it.

The Captain agreed and waved him out.

"I'm taking a walk,” he announced to his three brothers.

Athos stepped forward into his space. "Alone?"

"I will return,” d’Artagnan assured him and hurried out of the garrison, deciding to take a lengthier, ragtag route to the Bishop’s residence. Yet, ahead Athos was waiting for him.

“What are you doing here?”D’Artagnan asked, stopping Athos from taking the corner. “We can’t go there.”

Athos frowned, “Nonsense,” and stepped forward only for a shot to be fired. D’Artagnan flinched and entered the fray.

***

d’Artagnan was disturbed the next morning as he exited his room. He saw his friends.

“I know I look terrible, but I’m fine,” he told Aramis who seemed perplexed.

Then he started up the stairs and knocked on the Captain’s door. “You have a letter that you need delivered to the Bishop?”

Treville seemed taken aback. “How did you know?”

“It’s Tuesday, is it not, Sir?” D’Artagnan asked, knowing it was an insufficient answer, but the Captain accepted it.

He tried to go alone and he tried it again the next morning too, but they ended the same with one of his friends joining him then laying in his arms mortally wounded.

***

When he awoke next he remained in bed. He did feel terrible and maybe ignoring the world outside would make it seem normal again. No one visited him. He felt alone and trapped. He must have fallen asleep as the next day he tried once more to greet a new day.

It was the same day. D'Artagnan attempted to convince Athos, Aramis, Porthos and Treville that he knew what would happen. They teased him, worried over him, but did not _believe_ him. The Gascon thought he was going mad, begging Treville to burn the missive instead of letting anyone deliver it. That only resulted in him being sent to his room to rest until he fell asleep without seeing any of his friends and it was the same morning again.

***

The young Musketeer vowed to make his friends' never-ending last days their best as he started off another day, hoping for something different, not being surprised it was the same.

Porthos and Aramis were already at the table, and d'Artagnan gestured to Athos as he came through the gate with his hair slightly damp in the front.

"You look terrible," Aramis stated, starting to stand.

D'Artagnan nodded his agreement, slipping in beside Aramis.

"D'Artagnan, my office," Treville called out.

Marching up the stairs, the Gascon stood at attention listening to his orders. The Captain passed him a letter. "Deliver this to Bishop Desmarais and wait for his answer. One of the others will come with you."

"Yes, Sir," D'Artagnan answered and slipped the missive inside his doublet. As he exited he announced, "Athos, walk with me?” The letter felt terribly heavy, but they shuffled out of the garrison. The Gascon got straight to the heart of the matter, "If you were to die today-"

"I would need a drink first,” Athos interrupted with a cock of his eyebrow.

"Let's stop." They found themselves in front of the Wren. “We have time and I have coin to spare on some wine.”

The Gascon was surprised when Athos agreed as the custom was not to partake when on duty. It was a well spent hour, which was over too soon as d'Artagnan parted with his coin.

"Thank you." Athos tipped his hat and gave a small grin.

The pleasantness between them lasted up until the musket fire.

***

D'Artagnan chose Aramis next, still trapped in the hellish repeating day. "Who would be the last person you would want to see before you die?"

Aramis pulled up short. "What a morbid conversation, my friend."

It was the Gascon's mistake. He knew who the sharpshooter wanted to see, it was evident every time they were in her presence. The next morning with d'Artagnan thinking more clearly he picked Aramis again. It was cruel.

Stopping at the palace, they entered the gardens to find the Queen and her ladies guarded by other Musketeers.

"I just needed to ask Philippe a question," d'Artagnan excused himself for a few minutes.

When he returned they continued on to the Bishop's home, which they would never reach.

"She looks radiant." Aramis sighed.

D'Artagnan smiled in response feeling as if it was the first time in a while before the bandits found them once more.

***

"Tell me is there something you wish for?" He asked Porthos as they walked past the bakery this time.

The large man was giving it consideration. He pressed his lips together. "I wish I knew my father. I have memories of my mother, but none of my father, not even a name."

Porthos's request was difficult. He did not know much about how to find someone's missing father.

"I sometimes think my father calls for me," d'Artagnan confessed. It was always there, but he was unable to answer. Some days he wanted to answer and move on.

"He wants you to live." Porthos gripped his arm, shook it until d'Artagnan gave him a nod.

"Treville is like a father," d'Artagnan added. He watched how the Captain was with the other three. "Though I think he sees me as the annoying nephew he has to put up with when the relatives visit."

It was laughter that had them heading into the corner.

***

D'Artagnan was tired, dragging himself down the stairs as he had made his decision. "Can you all spare a moment to go to Bishop Desmarais?"

"All of us to deliver a letter?" Athos crossed his arms.

The young Musketeer was willing to beg. "I'm sure Treville won't mind. Think of it as patrolling."

It was enough that they agreed. He absorbed their silence along with conversation until he suddenly sprinted ahead into the danger, taking the shot that was meant for the other Musketeer's shoulder, which forced him to spin around to be stabbed by the fourth bandit. He saw the others running towards him, cursing with swords lifted and muskets firing as his fingers came in contact with the blood seeping from his body. It was time for him to finally rest in peace without another tomorrow.

***

There was no rest as a combination of cold and fire seized his body in agony forcing him to get away while his breath was stolen.

"Dear God, hold him! Hold him! He's having a fit!"

Straining to get out of his skin he bucked, but then collapsed with a sharp gasp into overpowering lethargy that made him so heavy and unable to move.

There was murmuring beyond his understanding. He wanted to comprehend, knowing he had to just open his eyes, but fearful it would be the same day.

Swirling into vision there were others in his room. He blinked, the only part of his body he felt sure about were his eyes, though they were at half-mast. A cloth was slipped over his forehead down his neck in a rhythm that was soothing and repetitious. "Awake?" He whispered on the air.

The cloth stopped and Athos came into view, his beard unkempt, hair greasy, and face haggard. "D'Artagnan?"

This was different. "Morning?" He tried again.

"No, it's night." Aramis bent down. The sharpshooter was crying.

"Alive?"

"Yes, you are. We are." Porthos hugged Athos, pulled him toward him.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes. "Stay? All stay?"

"We will." Athos put a hand on his head, brushed back his hair.

They told him what had happened because he did not remember, the fever burning through those memories. The seizures he had taking the rest. Riding ahead to so some scouting there was an ambush. D'Artagnan was able to warn the others, but got injured in the meantime- a bullet to the shoulder and stab wound.

The decision was made to return to Paris for medical care after doing what they could on the road, but it was not an easy journey and the younger man weakened quickly until he was nonsensical. It was the seizures that had concerned them the most, fearful he was passing, but he remained with them.

He was discovering his strength was slow in returning. For the first few days after he awoke properly he was bedridden. The physician admonished him that he needed to rest if he were to heal. D'Artagnan made no effort to move, accepting his brother's care of him.

Aramis and Athos helped him to sit at the table.

"It was the blood loss, the fever," Aramis explained again as a wave of exhaustion had the younger man slumping after the short trip.

D'Artagnan could not decide if he should place a hand on his pulsing shoulder on his painful side. It felt like he was holding himself together.

"You're doing better." Athos took the other seat. The room was crowded with additional furniture, but it was temporary while d'Artagnan recovered.

Porthos pulled out some baked goods from a sack, placing a baguette, tart and biscuit in front of the Gascon. "You need to eat. Give him butter and honey."

He picked at the tart. His appetite was slow in returning, though Porthos tried with different treats. "Did I say anything?" There was a nagging sensation with him that something _more_ had happened.

"About what?" Aramis frowned.

D'Artagnan nodded at Porthos for pouring him the glass of milk. He detested it, but the physician had recommended it. "I kept having this dream, nightmare, I think, but I can't remember it."

"Better to not remember." Athos leveled his friend with a glare.

The Gascon nodded. "Suppose so." His only job was to get better, return to his Musketeer duties.

Aramis seemed to take pity on him. "You called for your father, for us. We were with you."

Slowly he started to think more clearly and the soreness was a mild hindrance so he made his way down the stairs to the courtyard of the garrison without assistance to sit with his friends. He was finally allowed on light duty, looking forward in the coming days to resume training.

Treville joined them with an envelope in his hand. "I require someone to take the letter to the Bishop…"

The end.


End file.
